t. A moment later the slave seized him. As
they were struggling Amuba ran up.

"Here is a find!" the slave exclaimed. "This is the slayer of the
sacred cat. Aid me to drag him into the house of my master."

But to his surprise Amuba sprang upon him and struck him such a heavy
blow in the face that he released his hold of Chebron and staggered
backward.

"Run for your life!" Amuba exclaimed to his friend. "I will take
another route."

The slave, recovering from his blow, rushed at Amuba, shouting at the
top of his voice:

"Death to the insulters of the gods! Death to the slayers of the
sacred cat!"

But Amuba, who was now eighteen years of age, was at once stronger and
more active than the slave, whose easy life in the household of the
priest had unfitted him for such a struggle. Springing back to avoid
the grasp of his assailant, Amuba struck him with all his strength in
the face, and as he reeled backward repeated the blow, and the man
fell heavily to the ground. But several other people attracted by the
conflict and the shouts of the slave, were running up, and Amuba took
to his heels at the top of his speed. As he expected, the passers-by
paused to assist the fallen man and to learn the cause of the fray
before they took up the pursuit, and he was nearly two hundred yards
away when he heard the cry again raised, "Death to the slayer of the
sacred cat!"

By this time he was alongside of Chebron, who had paused to see the
issue of the contest with the slave.

"Do you turn off, Chebron, and take a turning or two and conceal
yourself, and then make your way up to the hill. I will keep straight
on for awhile. I have more last than you have and can outrun these
fellows, never fear. Do as I tell you," he said almost angrily as he
saw that Chebron hesitated when they reached the next turning. "If we
keep together they will overtake us both."

Chebron hesitated no longer, but took the turning indicated. Amuba
slackened his speed now, judging correctly that his pursuers if they
saw they gained upon him would not trouble themselves about his
companion, of whose identity they were probably still ignorant. When,
on looking back, he saw that all had passed the turning, he again
quickened his speed. He was not afraid of being overtaken by those
behind him, but that he might meet other people who, seeing the
pursuit, would take him for a fugitive from justice, and endeavor to
stop him. One or two did indeed make feeble